


Through Despair And Hope (You'll Find Your Way)

by josywbu



Category: Iron Man (Movies), Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)
Genre: (i hate myself too dw), Action, Family Feels, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Heartbreak, Hurt/Comfort, Lion King (1994) References, Peter Parker Gets a Hug, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Tony Stark Dies, Tony Stark as AI, ironfam, lion king AU, thats a lot of ppl but i swear they're all relevant, they are NOT lions jfc
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-14
Updated: 2020-01-14
Packaged: 2021-02-27 13:09:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,604
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22257739
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/josywbu/pseuds/josywbu
Summary: His nose is prickling - a sure sign of the tears boiling just beneath the surface and, sure enough, only a second later he feels the wetness of the first tear roll down his cheek and the heavy realization that settles in his stomach.I can never go back.--Or: The Lion King AU I was bullied into writing.
Relationships: Peter Parker & Morgan Stark (Marvel Cinematic Universe), Peter Parker & The Ironfam, Peter Parker & Tony Stark
Comments: 12
Kudos: 63





	Through Despair And Hope (You'll Find Your Way)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ironfamjam](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ironfamjam/gifts).



> Hi. Yes. You have read correctly this is a Lion King AU. Yes, Tony is Mufasa. (If you don't know what that means I can just say... be careful.. ) I can not warn everyone enough to be catious because the Lion King is freaking tragic and so is this but it's Disney... so we'll kinda sorta have a happy end? 
> 
> Anyway, this was written for Ironfamjam who is a fantastic author and wonderful person yet somehow also a horrible friend and she bullied me into writing this, so address any and all complaints there. (Don't you dare. She is an angel and I will protect her with my life.)
> 
> Finally, this IS ridiculously long but I have been advised against cutting it into chapters so you just all have to deal with it but I think it works better like this too. SO. Enjoy <3

_It's the Circle of Life_

_And it moves us all_

_Through despair and hope_

_Through faith and love_

_Till we find our place_

_On the path unwinding_

_In the Circle_

_The Circle of Life_

His entire life changes two days after his eighteenth birthday on a hot August day. Which is a weird day to lose all you’ve ever known because, while he swings hectically towards Penn Station, he remembers that he still has two slices birthday cake left over in the fridge.

It’s a ridiculous thought given the fact that his entire body hurts, he just lost the most important person in his life and he is in the middle of running away from the only home he’s ever known but it’s the one thought that breaks through the overall numbness that has taken over his being and makes tears spring to his eyes.They’re not for the cake, obviously, but it makes for a great catalyst.

He swallows down the lump in his throat when he lands outside the busy station - promptly loses his balance and tumbles into one of the pillars of the main entrance. No one really notices him in New York in a dirty jacket that’s way too big for his skinny frame that he has thrown over his torn suit to cover it up marginally. 

Going through the motions of buying a ticket, looking for the next option and finding the right platform happens in a blurry haze and the second he stops moving he thinks back to the cake. His birthday cake with the mountains of whipped cream, more sprinkles than base dough and the big red and blue 18 on top. He remembers how his dad’s eyes twinkled with mischief and his smile when he woke him up to present it to him. 

It’s that image of his dad - his dark hair unkempt because he just woke up, too, the brown eyes Peter inherited warm and loving - that breaks through the numbness and claws on his insides and hurts more than the gaping slash on his stomach. His nose is prickling - a sure sign of the tears boiling just beneath the surface and, sure enough, only a second later he feels the wetness of the first tear roll down his cheek and the heavy realization that settles in his stomach.

_I can never go back._

* * *

“I can never go back,” he tells Aunt May when she finds him on the doorstep of their apartment in Boston, broken and battered and bruised.

_I can never go back_ , he thinks when he’s laying in bed that first night and there’s no goodnight kiss and “sleep tight, squirt.” and he can hear Happy and his aunt whisper questions he can’t ever answer them. 

_I can never go back_ , drums in the back of his head and pounds into his skull when he hears children screaming on the street and misses the full bodied hugs from the whirlwind that is his sister. Sometimes he catches himself searching the playground for her chocolate colored curls that have always been darker than his and the brown eyes they share with their father. 

_I can never go back_ , he realizes when he buries the remains of his suit in the far corner of his closet and then again when he steps onto the MIT Campus for the first time three weeks later and sees all the pictures his dad used to show him come to life in front of him. Between all the people with hopes and dreams and eyes full of laughter he misses his dad’s teasing smile the most.

“I can never go back!” he screams from the top of his lungs standing on 200 Clarendon after his first week at college and collapses on the skyscraper in uncontrollable sobs. 

He stays there for hours until he can’t ignore the worried texts and calls anymore and when he picks himself up then he’s drained and tired and empty but he picks himself up anyway and he takes a good look at the city that is now his home and that is so different from the skyline he knows like the back of his hand. 

He picks himself up and climbs down and he goes home that’s not his home and he goes to school calling himself Peter Parker, his mother’s maiden name, and he stops climbing on skyscrapers and he breaks with everything he has ever known and he keeps breathing, somehow.

* * *

_Peter wakes up all at once and stares at the ceiling from his bunk bed for a moment before he remembers what day it is and suddenly his entire body is tingling with anticipation. He jumps to his knees and then scrambles off the bed as quickly as he can manage._

_“JARVIS?” He asks the A.I., jumping up and down as he tries to get into the leg of his jeans, “Is dad up?”_

_“Good Morning, Peter,” comes the posh sounding reply and, as always, it sounds like a smile if machines can smile. “Your dad is still asleep.”_

_“But he promised,” Peter whines, now fully dressed in jeans and one of his dad’s old band shirts that sits far too loosely on his skinny shoulders but he likes it too much to give it back and it’s not like anyone else is going to be seeing him today anyway. “I’ll wake him up!” He declares after one last glance in the mirror, throws his door open and starts running down the hallway to his parents’ bedroom._

_Well, his dad and Pepper but for as long as he can remember Pepper has been his mom after his mother died soon after he was born._

_“Dad? Daad. Dad, Dad, Dad, Dad, Dad, Dad, Dad, Dad--“ He starts shouting before he even reaches their door, then bursts in and jumps onto their bed, ever careful of Pepper’s round belly. He smiles as he gives it a gentle pat, greeting it with a soft, “Good morning, baby” before going back to jumping and shouting for his dad._

_Pepper blinks awake first, yawning, and poking his dad in the side who rolls over with a groan. “Your son is up._

_His dad still has his eyes closed but reaches out to pull Peter into a hug blindly. “Before sunrise he’s-“_

_“Oh no,” Pepper protests, turning away from both of them, even though Peter knows she doesn’t like to sleep on her side anymore, “_ I’m _carrying your daughter._ You _can take care of your son.”_

_“Daaaad,” Peter starts again and tries to wiggle out of his dad’s grip, “Dad, dad!” He pokes his cheek until his dad_ finally _opens his eyes, then pouts. “You promised.”_

_His dad blinks at him a couple of times. “You’re a menace, you know that, right?” But he smiles and presses a kiss to his forehead._

_“Am not!” he protests and scrunches his nose up. “Da-a-ad.”_

_“Alright! Alright!” In one fluid motion his dad gets up and out of bed, with Peter clinging to his neck like a monkey and giggling. “I’m up! Now shush,” he yawns and sets Peter back down, “Let’s let mom get some more shut eye while we go downstairs, Kay?”_

_“Kay,” he whispers back with a triumphant grin and skips out of the room and towards the elevator, waiting for his dad to get dressed and follow._

_\--_

_“Wow.” He stops dead in his tracks once they step inside the lab. And it’s not like he has never been in his dad’s workshop before but today his dad promised to show him_ everything _! The Ironman suits and the arc reactor and how JARVIS works and where he works on things for Stark Industries._ Everything _!_

_He stares at the new workbench that somehow materialized next to his dad’s bigger one since he was last here open mouthed, then looks up at his dad. “Is that.. is that mine?”_

_His dad grins down at him softly and ruffles his hair. “Yeah, squirt. That’s your new work space. I feel like we’ve outgrown the couch table for now, don’t ya think?”_

_Peter nods, still awed, and steps closer, his hand ghosting over the brand new table and all the tools neatly lined up on it. “Wow,” he says again and leans against his dad when he feels him come up next to him._

_“One day, this will all be yours, Pete,” his dad whispers, chin on Peter’s head._

_“Everything?” He squints at the Ironman suits in their respective places and at Dum-E who greets them with a soft beep-boop and at his dad’s workstation with the weird keyboard he doesn’t understand and at all the blue screens scattered throughout the room that Jarvis controls._

_“Yes, squirt,” he hears and feels his dad say into his ear making Peter giggle at the sensation. “Someday you will outgrow me, baby, and you will invent exceptional things and you will shape the world better than I ever could. You’re the future, Peter, and I’m going to give you everything I have to help you make it into the one you want.”_

_Peter giggles again. “But, dad, I’m not the baby!”_

_His dad doesn’t care about his complaint, simply pulls him closer and presses another kiss to his temple and tells him he loves him._

* * *

Peter rolls over in bed, rubbing at his eyes and groaning when he glances at the clock. 

The half an hour subway ride to school isn’t the worst per se and from what Ned always tells him it’s way better than the dorms he's forced to stay in but it also means, to make it to first period at 8, he has to get up at 7 the latest. He’s half inclined to turn around, shut his eyes and try to dive back into the warm, slowly vanishing feeling of his dream when there’s a knock and he knows it’s over for good.

“Rise and shine, kid,” Happy greets him, a little muffled through the wooden door, like he always does in case Peter oversleeps (“That was _one_ time” - “You missed your _final_ , Peter”). 

“I’m up, I’m up” he mumbles defensively and curses when he rolls out of bed and steps on the notebook he fell asleep on last night. It must’ve fallen out some time while he was asleep. 

When he shuffles out of his room, in one of his usual science pun shirts and jeans, and into the kitchen where his aunt - a literal angel - is already preparing breakfast Happy grins at him.

“You know that no normal student goes to the 8 o’clock lectures on Mondays, right?” He asks amused, handing him two French Toasts and ruffling his hair while May throws him a kiss he accepts with a tired smile.

“Yeah, cause they drink all weekend,” Peter quips back and takes a bite, “I, on the other hand, am a very responsible student.” Or at least that’s what he’s trying to say through a mouthful of bread. He swallows. “Besides, it’s bioengineering and Professor Rhodes would literally have my head if I so much as thought of skipping.” 

“With good reason,” May joins them on the table and presses a kiss to his curls. “Did you sleep well?” 

He nods, still munching, trying to hold onto the warm feeling of his dream. He’s not sure what it was about, he rarely ever remembers his dreams that aren’t nightmares but from the feeling alone he knows his dad made an appearance. 

“Happy and I are going out tonight,” she tells him, filling their plates up, “There’s leftover pasta in the fridge. Enough for Ned, too, if he wants to come over.”

Peter is in the middle of opening his mouth to reply when he picks up on the faint sound of the radio that’s always humming in the background and that just switched to breaking news.

“Stark Industries stocks have taken another major hit after Obadiah Stane’s announcement to--“ That’s as far as the news anchor gets before Peter cuts her off by turning the whole thing off. Maybe a little too roughly given that he’s holding the on-off knob in his hand.

The sudden quiet is deafening in the small room and no one moves. 

It’s an unspoken rule in their apartment to not talk about the Stark name and anything related ever since Peter wound up on their doorstep in the middle of the night three years ago and refused to talk about why he ran away from home on the day his father died tragically while the whole world thought he shared his father’s destiny. Or why he has never made an attempt to reach out to Pepper or Morgan. 

And it’s not like they didn’t try to talk to him about it, they did. They did everything they could, tried to give him all the support he could possibly need. But they can’t give him back his dad and they can’t clear him from the black cloud of guilt that has been following him ever since. 

Suddenly the warm feeling from before turns into hot dread that burns through his intestines and the soft echo of forehead kisses turns into the heart stopping scream of his father falling and falling and falling and -

“Peter. Peter? _Peter!_ ” 

His head snaps up, eyes flying back and forth between his aunt and her boyfriend, disoriented. For a moment he feels just as lost as he did when he boarded the train in Penn Station, New York in another life. 

“Sorry,” he mumbles and drops the last piece of French toast to his plate. “I’m late,” he says which, he realizes with a quick look at the time, isn’t even a lie. He moves to the sink to rinse his plate but Aunt May is behind him in an instance, a soft yet firm hand on his elbow.

“Don't worry about it, honey,” she tells him and takes the plate from him. “Get ready, I’ll clean up.” 

He nods mechanically and accepts both her kiss to his temple and Happy’s grounding pat on the shoulder and the gruff, “Tell Rhodey we said hi and to come over for dinner some time next week.” 

* * *

He slips into the room just as his teacher rounds the corner and when he returns his warm smile with a friendly wave he feels some of the tension he has been holding onto since breakfast seep out of his shoulders. 

Colonel Rhodes is by far is favorite docent in the entire facility. 

He met him in one of the school’s labs one night when he forgot the time again while tinkering and Rhodes was on student duty, tasked with shooing the kids back into their respective dorms. Since Peter lives with his aunt, he took it upon himself to drive him home safely. 

That’s how they first got talking. About his time at the army, the accident that ended with him taking up teaching instead and politics because of _course_. They talked about Peter’s classes, too, his interests and plans for the future.

And when they got to their apartment, Aunt May and Happy insisted on him staying for dinner and, all of the sudden, their little family had grown to include one of his college docents who came and went as he pleased. 

The lecture goes by in a blur but it’s a good thing because Rhodey is a great docent and his lectures are never boring and they take his mind off of the news anchor that morning and the sudden fall in stock of his dad’s company and that _name_ that sends shivers down his spine and wakes up a sense he has long since tried to bury in oblivion, making the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. 

Everyone clapping is what pulls him back to reality and he starts slowly gathering his belongings and stuffing his notebook and pencils into his tattered backpack. He loiters about for a bit until everyone else is gone before shouldering his bag and standing. 

Rhodey greets him with a hug. “Hello my favorite genius student in this institution full of genius students. How are we doing on this fine Monday?”

Peter laughs quietly and pulls on the straps of his backpack. “What did you smoke?” he asks instead of an answer, “Since when do you like Mondays so much?” 

“Oh, I’ve never hated Mondays,” he shrugs, “As a teen I just had the feeling everyone else expected me to but I stopped being confined to social norms a long, long time ago, kid. Though, someone I knew back in the day when I studied here absolutely despised the day,” he chuckles bit there’s a sad undertone to it. “I think the only song I’ve ever heard him sing was ‘I don’t like Mondays’ by The Boomtown Rats. And, thank god for that, he was a talented guy but singing was not his forte.” 

“Yeah,” Peter swallows and feels his heart burn with the sharp roar of a familiar pain, “I knew someone like that once, too.” 

He doesn’t know why today is one of those days where seemingly everything circles back to his father. His late father. His _dead_ father. 

These days happen, he knows that, he has lived in this lie for long enough to know that but they never get easier and the only things he knows to do anymore is to push it even further away, to try to forget and close that chapter of his life for good. And yet, somehow he hasn’t been able to so far.

It’s not Rhodey’s fault. God, he never even told him enough for him to know that he’s an orphan. That all the talk about Stark Industries’ role in the future of bioengineering in his lecture is a punch to the gut. That it’s his dad’s, _his_ , legacy they’re talking about. 

Yet his dad died in an accident. And, for all intents and purposes, so did he. 

Yeah, _accident_. He scoffs internally. 

“Hey, Pete?” There’s a soft shake on his shoulder and he blinks. “I’m being serious. Are you okay? You seem kind of out of it today.” 

“I’m great,” he splutters, “So, so great. Uh,” he looks around the room for something and comes back lacking so he sighs, “Happy and May say hi and you should come over next week. And uh,” he tightens the straps of his backpack, “I gotta go. I’m meeting Ned for our next class.” 

He practically bolts out of the room and runs straight into Ned’s waiting arms. His friend is dutifully waiting across the hallway and greets him with a grin and their ridiculously long handshake. Peter feels his mind settle at the mundane motions. 

“Dude,” Ned complains as they turn and head right towards their next, joined, lecture, “You have that brooding look again that you get. What’s eating ya’?”

“Nothing, man,” he waves him off less than convincingly, “Just a really weird morning. You know how it is. Family and, uh, stuff.” 

“Nah, I really don’t” Ned shakes his head, “I don’t think I have ever met anyone as reclusive as you, Peter. I don’t even know where you’re from.” 

He rolls his eyes good-naturedly. Today really is not his day but that is not Ned’s fault either. Or so he tries to remind himself. “I’m from New York, you know that!” 

"Yeah, yeah but, man, you gotta admit that it’s like pulling teeth with you,” his friend frowns at him. “Your parents never even make it to Parents Weekends. Are they like terrorists or something?” 

He raises an eyebrow at him. “Really? That’s what you’re going with here?” he asks, unimpressed. “Terrorists?”

Ned shrugs, “Well, there’s gotta be something in your past that you don’t wanna talk about.” 

“Yeah, well, I don’t wanna talk about it,” he snaps, stuffing his hands into his pockets, both clenched to fists. 

“Well if it bothers you that much, maybe you gotta put your past behind you. And stop looking back.” Ned points out, not even offended. Peter loves him even more for that. “I mean, we all got bad families. Or, like, I don’t but I know that is a thing so maybe you just gotta turn your back on them.” 

“Since when are you such a source of inspirational wisdom?” he mocks, trailing into the lecture hall and plopping down into his usual seat, turning back to Ned. 

“Ah, you know me,” he grins with a hand wave, then looks at him in mock earnest. “Let me tell you something about life, child.” He takes a deep breath and settles a hand on his shoulder in a way that makes Peter’s skin tingle with an unwanted memory. “Hakuna Matata.” 

“Ha - What?” he asks dumbly. 

“Ha-ku-na Ma-ta-ta,” Ned repeats slowly, “It means ‘No worries’. We just had it in African Studies. Maybe that could save your pretty face some wrinkles in the future.” 

“Har-har,” he deadpans and turns forward to where their prof is entering the room and shushing everyone. 

“Hakuna Matata?” he whispers to himself and a small smile tugs on the corner of his lips. Maybe I really should try that.” 

* * *

_“What are you doing down here all alone?” Uncle Obie asks over the lab’s intercom system._

_Peter looks up from his latest project, tongue still tucked between his teeth like he does when he’s concentrating really_ _“Oh, hey Uncle Obie!” He greets him cheerfully and waves, “Dad’s just gone to help Pepper with something. I think he has to sign papers or something.”_

_His uncle doesn’t seem too happy about it but in Peter’s opinion he’s always way grumpier than he has to be. Especially whenever his dad does anything without talking to him first which is stupid because it’s his dad’s company._

_“And Tony thought it’s a good idea to leave you here when he’s not here?”_

_Peter rolls his eyes, careful to have his back turned to the glass wall when he does, “He told me this is all going to be mine one day,” he brags happily instead._

_“Oh goody,” Obie says and of course he sounds grouchy. “Are you going to let me in, boy?”_

_He turns on his chair and cocks his head to the side, as if contemplating, only to rile the older man up some more. “Sure,” he shrugs eventually, “JARVIS, let Obie in.”_

_"Hey, Uncle Obie?” he lets his legs dangle from his chair, watching his uncle take a seat on the couch in the corner, the engine he was working on laying forgotten on his workbench._

_“When I’m the boss of Stark Industries, what’ll that make you?”_

_“A monkey’s uncle.”_

_Peter laughs, “You’re really weird, you know.”_

_Obie simply shrugs. “So your dad showed you everything?”_

_“Yes!” Peter exclaims excitedly, “All of his inventions and Stark Industries. He trusts me with aaaall his stuff now.”_

_“Oh, then I bet he told you about the underground stuff, too?”_

_He frowns, not liking that Obie knows more than him. After all,_ he’s _going to inherit Stark Industries, not him. “What underground stuff?”_

_His uncle stares at him as if he just let a secret slip and Peter’s interest is piqued. “Sorry, sorry. He’s right not to tell you about that! It’s way too dangerous. Only the bravest men are allowed to go there.”_

_“I’m brave,” he all but yells and jumps from his chair, pleading, “What is it? Please tell me! I promise I won’t tell dad!”_

_“Ah, but Peter,” Obie crosses his legs and looks at him apologetic, “I have to keep you safe, don’t I? You’re my favorite nephew after all.”_

_“Yeah, right,” Peter snorts sarcastically, “I’m your_ only _nephew.”_

_Obie shrugs, typing something on his phone, “All the more reason to protect you. Alien weapons really aren’t a playground.” He looks up with round eyes, “Oops.”_

_“Alien weapons?” Peter jumps up and down, “Whoa! That’s so cool! Where are they?”_

_Obie sighs, dismayed, “Oh, Peter, I’ve already said enough. Well, I suppose you would have found out eventually, given how clever you are…” With another deep sigh he gets up and pats some nonexistent dust from his pants like old people do before settling a heavy hand on Peter’s shoulder. “Just, promise me you won’t go looking for it, okay?”_

_He ponders that for a moment, then nods even as his mind is racing with ways to figure out where the secret alien weapons underground stash is. “Okay.” He smiles sweetly at him._

_“Alright, well I guess I gotta go then.” He waves. “See you around, boy. And remember, this is our little secret now.”_

_Peter wrinkles his nose in confusion but nods again. His uncle sure is a weird guy but he is not going to rat out this new information to his dad. If for nothing else then because he doesn’t plan on not digging deeper. If there’s one thing his dad always, always taught him it’s to dig the_ deepest _._

_“Hey squirt?”_

_His head snaps up and he tries not to look too guilty. “Hey dad!”_

_“Why’s the door open?”_

_He shrugs, “Oh. Uncle Obie stopped by but he just left.” He turns back to his engine and pauses, looking back to his dad. “Dad? Uncle Obie is a really weird guy.”_

_His father laughs at that and ruffles his hair. “You betcha.”_

\--

_It takes him about two weeks to figure out that there is indeed a secret alien weapon stash beneath the bustling streets of New York City - a leftover from the big invasion years ago that the Avengers stopped._

_He hasn’t heard of the Avengers since, and he’s not sure if he ever wants to again. The last time they called his dad into their business he almost didn’t make it back from a hole in the sky that he flew through to save everyone’s asses. That’s what his dad says anyway, Pepper always tells him not to use the a-word, especially around Morgan._

_The cool thing about the secret stash is that it isn’t even far from Stark Tower, the entrance hidden by one of the delivery entrances to the R &D department. He can get there, no problem, the only problem is getting around JARVIS’ surveillance but even for that he is prepared. After all, a week is a long time to harass his dad into teaching him some basic coding and a little basic coding, if utilized correctly, can go a long way. _

_Peter grins, sitting cross-legged on his bed, and calls out, “JARVIS, turn on the invisibility cloak protocol.”_

_“Right away, little sir,” comes the reply and then the AI goes quiet. Perfect._

_He clears his throat. “Hey JARVIS. Where is Peter Stark?”_

_“Peter Stark is not currently home. He was last seen in his room.”_

_A grin spreads across his face._ Perfect _. Let’s go._

_Sneaking outside isn’t too hard without the AI’s constant presence and he even drew a map beforehand so he knows where he’s going and getting in is almost ridiculously easy but that might be because he generally has access to all his dad’s facilities. Just in case._

_He punches in his access code and tiptoes past powered-off machines of all sorts. It should be around here somewhere… Ah!_

_Behind one of the machines in the far left corner of the room he can see a hole in the wall that seems to lead somewhere dark. Jackpot._

_Even though his legs are a little shaky, he makes his way to the entrance and climbs down the steps slowly, waiting for his eyes to get used to the dark but when he reaches the bottom he can see a weird purple glow being emitted from somewhere in the middle of the small cave._

_“Ouch,” he cries out when he hits his head on the low ceiling. And somehow gets a comforting “Petey” in response._ _He whirls around, squinting into the dark until he can make out the small shape of his sister._

_“Morgan!” he whisper yells and takes her outstretched arms to pull her to his side, “You’re not supposed to be here!” he reprimands, cursing himself for not being more careful. “Come on, we should -”_

_Suddenly there’s a loud noise of something slamming shut and Morgan’s grip on his arm tightens. “Petey?” She’s scared and, Christ, so is he. But he isn’t a baby anymore! He’s a big boy and his dad’s a superhero and he’s going to inherit the biggest company in the world._

_“Hello?” he calls out, taking a step further inside the cave. He can make out three different shapes now. They’re all adults, he thinks._

_“Oho, what do we have here?” one of them asks, and his voice makes a shiver run down Peter’s spine but he won’t back down. He refuses to be scared._

_“You better stay away from us,” he threatens and is proud when his voice barely quivers._

_With one hand he’s still holding on to Morgan, with the other he’s digging into the pocket of his jeans until his fingers hit the reassuring metal of one of his dad’s watches he managed to pocket yesterday. He puts it on and presses the button that makes an Ironman gauntlet form to cover his hand. He raises it, tries to channel his dad’s courage with a piece of his armor._

_“Wait,” a menacing chuckle, “You’re Stark’s kids, aren’t ya?” The man in the middle, the leader probably, laughs again, “Well if it ain’t our lucky day, boys.” He turns to his two friends who have each started to pull out some of the purple glowing weapons with dirty smiles on their faces._

_“What do you say we should do with these small, lost kids?”_

_“Fry them?” One suggests. “Skin ‘em,” says the other._

_The leader laughs out loud, a gruesome noise echoing back from the narrow walls around them. “That’s cruel. I love it.”_

_“You can’t do anything to me!” Peter yells at them, stepping fully in front of Morgan now. “I’m Peter Stark and I’m not afraid of you!”_

_He takes aim and fires the repulsor in the general direction of the men who scatter in three different directions. He hasn’t calculated the recoil, though, and is still trying to regain his balance when one of them suddenly towers over him._

_He takes a step backwards, almost tumbling over Morgan crouching down behind him, and fires again. This time he hits the man’s leg and he curses as he lets up. But as he stumbles backwards the other two come closer and he can only see their eyes but they’re full of hatred and madness._

_“No!” He tries to fire up the repulsor again but something isn’t right and it won’t give him more firepower. There’s small flicker before it goes back to the normal blue as if nothing happened._

_“Awh, daddy’s toys not working for you, boy?” They laugh and Peter just tries to move Morgan and him closer towards the stairs so they can get away from here._

_He growls, helpless and raw, which earns him another round of demeaning laughter, “You wanna try that again?”_

_Out of other options, Peter clenches the armored hand to a fist and starts reaching back to plant it in one of the man’s faces. Before his fist reaches the man, though, there’s a loud bang and the whirring of much more powerful repulsors and the two goons are being pulled away from them._

_Iron Man doesn’t need long to take them out and when the three of them are all piled on the floor, he lands in front of them, glowing eyes leveling Peter with a deadly stare._

_“We’re going home. Now.” He tells them before scooping both kids up in his arms and flying through the hole in the ceiling he came through. Normally, Peter would be beyond excited at any chance of flying with the suit. Now, though, he just feels dread pool in his stomach._

* * *

“Hakuna Matata,” Peter yawns and blinks back into the lecture hall when Ned’s excessive tapping pulls him from his memories. “What are you so nervous about, man? 

Ned looks up from his phone a little dumbfounded at first. “Have you heard about the thing at Stark Industries?” When Peter just frowns at him, he shoves his phone into his face. 

Namely, a large picture of Obadiah Stane mid-speech and the headline that immediately catches his eye. 

**Stark Industries Back In Weapons Dealing**

_Three years after Tony Stark’s tragic death at the hands of an, as of yet, unknown military group his successor Obadiah Stane has decided to --_

He covers the screen with his hand, deliberately turning away to turn his attention back to their prof going on about Kant. “What about it?” he hisses. 

“Peter,” Ned whispers back urgently, “Do you know what that means?”

_Yes_ , he wants to scream but bites his tongue and shakes his head with a shrug. 

“Stark Industries has been the biggest name in renewable energy for years! If they go back to selling weapons and stop with that…?” He trails off. “We’re screwed, man, that’s what that means! God, I can’t believe it’s been three years since -“

He can’t believe it either. He can’t, he doesn’t want to. Every day he wakes up and just doesn’t want to continue living in a world his dad is no longer a part of. And the only way he can get up in the morning is by pushing all of it to the very farthest corner of his mind. But obviously that isn’t flying today.

“Yeah,” he croaks out, eyes firmly planted on the screen ahead, “It’s… it’s crazy. We should, uh,” he nods to the their prof, “Pay attention, probably?” 

“Ugh,” Ned turns towards the front but glances back down at his phone, “I really wonder what happened to him back then. He always seemed larger than life. Like nothing could kill him. I mean, he was Iron Man! And then what happened to his son, too…” 

_Right_ , Peter feels like crying. Because Peter Stark is believed to have died with his father three years ago although his body was never recovered and since the media never really had anything except for the fact that he existed and three childhood pictures, no one would know any better if he enrolled in a college a few states over under a different name and started gelling his naturally curly hair to blend in.

“Yeah. He is.. was the strongest.”

* * *

_“Peter.”_

_His dad doesn’t scream, yet the single word travels through the quiet lab like a cannon shot. It reverberates through the air and Peter’s body, until he feels every bone, every fiber, every cell vibrate with the two syllables of his name._

_He drops his gaze down to the ground, sees the gauntlet still on his hand and when he looks up he sees four Iron Man suits stare back at him - all much more intimidating and capable and stronger than he could ever be. He swallows, feels the shame in his cheeks and the fading fear in his heart and bites down on his lip._

_For a long while no one says a word._

_He can feel the fury coming off his dad in waves but there is an unspoken, absolute trust in the air. One born out of a loving relationship and the certainty that he has never lashed out at him. Still, he’s petrified staring at his dad’s back, waiting for his punishment, almost begging for something that isn’t this stifling quiet._

_Finally,_ finally _his dad turns around and looks at him, his gaze piercing through him until his soul lays bare. “I’m very disappointed in you,” he says, calm but stern._

_Peter lowers his gaze, breaks eye contact because, as he quickly realizes, disappointment is the worst punishment his dad could have given him and the regret is eating him up from the inside. “I know,” he whispers._

_His dad starts pacing now, never one to be able to stand still for too long, but never stops looking at him. “You could have been hurt today. You lied to me, you messed with JARVIS’ coding, putting the entire Tower at risk. And, even worse, you put your sister in danger.”_

_He looks up then, meets his father’s eyes that - despite everything - still are home and safe and there’s something else in them he has never seen before. “I just wanted to be brave like you,” he says, voice quivering as he’s bordering on crying._

_“I'm only brave when I have to be,” he sighs, a heavy truth hiding behind his eyes that Peter is too sheltered and innocent to understand. “Peter... being brave doesn't mean you go looking for trouble.”_

_“But,” he stares up, his youth and utter trust in the invincibility of his dad shining through “you're not scared of anything.”_

_“I wish, buddy,” his dad smiles, pained. “I was so scared today. I thought I might lose you. That’s the scariest thing that could ever happen to me, baby.”_

_He doesn’t have to say the words for Peter to get the message and he sends him a small smile. “So even superheroes get scared?” When his dad nods his smile widens and the gloomy mood of the moment vanishes as it always does between them._

_"But I bet those men were even scareder!”_

_“As they should be. Nobody messes with your dad,” his dad laughs and pulls him closer to press a kiss to his temple before starting to give him a noogie._

_“Argh,” Peter struggles and leaps away from him, running out of the lab giggling as he sees his dad following hot on his heels._

_“Stay here, you little menace! We’re not done yet!” As if to prove his point he leaps forward at the top of the stairs to the living room and briefly tickles Peter before running to the couch and hiding behind one of the big pillows._

_“Hey! Come here!” He’s laughing and he’s light and he jumps on his dad like he used to when he was really little. “Gotcha,” he declares, pleased, and proceeds to tug himself into his dad’s arms._

_When he’s comfortable he looks up at him, preening when he finds him already looking. “Dad? We’re best friends, right?”_

_His dad runs his hand through his messy curls, chuckling. “Of course we are, squirt.”_

_“And,” he hesitates for a moment, biting his lip, “And we’ll always be together, right?”_

_His dad looks at him for a long moment, sobering from his previous playful mood, then points to the huge panorama window. “Do you see the stars?”_

_Peter frowns but dutifully follows his dad’s index finger and scrambles over his lap to get a better look. “I can see the Big Dipper,” he says and, after some thought, adds, “oh and there’s the North Star!”_

_His dad smiles and takes the hand he’s pointing towards the sky with in his much bigger one. His calloused fingers rub over his soft skin and the comforting gesture feels like home. It feels important._

_“That’s right, bud. There’s a lot of constellations and stars up there. Way too many to count,” before Peter can interject his dad winks at him, “Even for me.” He pauses and looks back to the window. “My mum used to tell me that everyone that we once loved is up there, looking down on us, guarding us until the end of time.”_

_Peter stares at him, eyes wide as if to ask ‘Really?’ and his dad sends him an indulgent smile though his eyes have a wistful gleam in them that almost looks sad._

_“Really,” he tells him with so much certainty in his voice that Peter could never dream to doubt his words, “Whenever you feel alone, just remember that.” His hand tightens around his and he pulls him closer. “Your mum and your grandma and everyone who has ever loved you will be there to guide you. And so will I.”_

* * *

“You’re still up for tonight, right?” Peter asks as they slowly trail out of the lecture hall and into the hallway alongside the two handful of people that still make it to the philosophy lectures two months into the semester.

“‘Course,” Ned grins and bumps his shoulder, “I’m gladly eating Happy’s leftover and watching Star Wars is just sweetening the deal.”

He laughs and truly looks forward to the rest of the day for the first time. “Good Point. But we still gotta finish that essay for bioengineering and you know full well prof Rhodes is not gonna go easy on me after last time where he said my writing was above average but far below my standard when I wrote it in like two hours before the deadline.” 

He keeps talking, trying to avoid the other students milling about in the hallway and keeping all his body parts close enough to not accidentally be chopped off by flying pencils and the likes. 

In the usual general chaos of college he doesn’t even realize that his best friend is no longer at his side until he hears a loud scream that sounds a lot like the Filipino he’s been hanging out with for the past three years enough to know his voice anywhere. Instantly he tries to locate him, mind racing with possible threats that are becoming more and more ridiculous and unlikely the longer he goes without seeing the boy.

“Please, argh, please don’t hurt me, man — Ma’am. Please. I didn’t mean to-“

“Hey,” he steps in, cutting through the people forming a circle around two people they could only see from behind, one of which was definitely his best friend and the other almost certainly a girl much, much smaller than him that had him in a pretty good headlock. “What’s the matter?”

The girl whirls around almost instantly, eyes flashing with something wild and dangerous that has everyone else take a step back. She jerks Ned with her and Peter is too busy trying to check on his friend to look at her. 

She sees him, though, and the second her eyes fall on him she stops dead in her tracks, mind obviously working through a thousand different connections before completely loosening her grip on her opponent and taking a step forward, almost dreamlike.

“Petey?” Her voice is shaky and her previous confident stance gone as she drinks him in. 

The second he hears the old nickname his eyes snap up and when he meets hers it’s like he’s looking in a mirror and there’s a part of his soul that sings at the eye contact as if a piece of him, lost for three years, has finally returned home.

“Morgan?” He whispers, not quite believing his eyes, mind not comprehending how she would be here today of all days. 

With one arm he is still holding up Ned who is pulling himself off the ground after being so unceremoniously dropped but he lets go when his sister jumps forward and into his arms and short circuits his brain. 

Her arms wrap around him wonderfully tightly, and, although she’s so much bigger than he remembers, she still fits into his embrace perfectly. There’s desperation in the way she snuggles into him as much as possible, there is love in the way she buries her face in his neck and he feels her tears fall on his skin. 

“How are you here?”

“How are _you_ here?” He counters but doesn’t let her pull away. As much as he has tried to put his past behind him he finds that now that he’s holding a part of his family he can’t bring himself to let go. “Seriously, how did you find me?”

“Find you?” Morgan is almost hysterical and he, very hesitantly, lets her wriggle out of his hold. “I wasn’t looking for you! I was just looking for Uncle Rhodey when this guy,” she points to Ned, “ran into me-“

“Completely by accident might I add,” Ned butts in, his entire face a single question mark as he watches their exchange with big eyes, head snapping back and forth as if watching a game of tennis.

Morgan glares at him in a way that is so undoubtedly his sister that Peter can’t help but grab her hand and squeeze it. 

“Yes,” she gives in, exasperated, “but I didn’t know that and -“ 

“Our dad was pretty big on the whole self-defense thing,” Peter finishes for her and when he looks around them he’s glad to see that the people have scattered again after realizing there wouldn’t be a fight. 

“Your- your-,” Ned stutters and before he can finish there is yet another interruption.

“Morgan?” Both siblings turn around at the call but while Morgan’s eyes light up, Peter’s look now equally lost as his friend’s. 

“Uncle Rhodey!” Morgan exclaims.

Just as Peter asks, “Professor Rhodes?” in the most bewildered voice imaginable. 

The man takes one look at the chaos trio, lets his eyes linger on his niece and students for only a second before giving a curt nod towards his office at the end of the hallway and turning around to go just there.

In varying degrees of confusion Morgan, Peter and Ned follow his lead. 

“So she’s your _sister_?” Ned asks breathlessly the second the door falls shut behind them while Rhodey eyes them thoughtfully, leaning against his desk.

“So you are Tony’s boy…”

“And,” Ned stares at him now, “ _you_ know his dad?” 

“Yeah,” Peter stares at his professor, too, “How did you know my dad?” 

Morgan seems exasperated and like she wants to interrupt but she has yet to let go of her brother and one look from her uncle makes her close her mouth again and lean into Peter’s side instead, mind still racing with the ramifications of what’s happening. 

“Tony and I were best friends—“ when Peter wants to say something he puts his hand up to shut him up, too, “We went to MIT together back in the day.” 

Understanding dawns on Peter’s face. “The guy who hated Mondays…”

“That’s him,” he tries to smile but it still feels sad, “We lost contact because I was deployed overseas a lot and then his parents died and Afghanistan happened..”

“Uncle Rhodey saved Dad!” Morgan interrupts now anyway and steps away from Peter and into the middle of the room without letting go of his hand. “He saved him from the desert!”

“But I never—“ Peter shakes his head unbelieving because how can he not know his dad’s best friend?

“Like I said, I was away a lot and when I wasn’t..,” Rhodey sighs, “Well, let's just say after you were born he got even more overprotective. Bit of a hermit, really, especially in the years leading up to his death. I think maybe he saw something in Obie…”

“That’s why you have to come back!” Morgan exclaims now, grabbing both of Peter’s hands in a pleading gesture. ”We have to tell mom! We have to tell everyone that you’re alive!”

“No, no—“

“Your family thinks you’re dead?” Ned yelled. “Peter, what the — what the everloving _fuck_!” 

“Yes, he told us,” Morgan trembles, her lip quivering and she doesn’t take her eyes off her brother once, “Obie told us about the attack.”

He freezes at that, feels the cold of that night run down his back like he did then and his heart almost stops when his voice forms the words. “What — what else did he tell you?” 

* * *

_“This is very not good,” he mutters to himself, pacing on the roof of some building in Queens._

_Everything seemed alright at first. Uncle Obie was supposed to get his dad and his dad said he had a surprise for him and he was betting that he wanted to go to the new Lego Store with him and maybe, if he was lucky, he was going to get the Millenium Falcon._

_Now, though, something feels off._

_He hasn’t had his new mutation long enough to truly figure out what his dad loves to call his Spidey sense but he knows for a fact that something wonky is going on somewhere close. He half considers putting on his new suit to go investigate but Obie doesn’t know he’s Spider-Man and maybe he’s going to come back with his dad and then he’d have to explain everything. So he just sits down on the roof, lets his legs dangle over the city he loves, ignores the feeling that something is wrong and waits for his dad._

_Maybe he should call him, he thinks absentmindedly until, suddenly there is a commotion of sounds he can’t place but that one-hundred percent do not belong into the Queens neighborhood. With one swift motion he jumps up and pulls the red and blue suit from his yellow backpack._

_“Hey Jar,” he greets the A.I. when the HUD blinks up and doesn’t even wait for a reply before shooting a web and jumping off the building. “What’s going on?”_

_“A large group of robots seem to have emerged from the underground,” JARVIS replies after a short pause, “I have alerted your father about the situation and your whereabouts. He is ordering you to stay where you are and to not get involved.”_

_“I can’t do that!” He exclaims in frustration and just keeps webbing towards the noise which really isn’t far from where Obie led him earlier. “I can help! I’m a superhero, too!”_

_“I know you can but I’d rather you not try proving that by taking on two dozen robots with freaky weapons, kiddo.”_

_“Dad!” He rolls his eyes and although it doesn’t translate over comms, he is sure his dad knows anyway. “Please let me help.”_

_There’s a tense pause and then a defeated sigh that has Peter inwardly happy dance. “Okay, squirt. But you’re on ground control, alright? Your job is to get civilians to safety. You do not meddle with the big scary robots, do you understand?“_

_“Ye-es.”_

_“You know I can hear you rolling your eyes, right?”_

_Peter grins, light hearted because, sure, this was a pretty high level attack but his dad was on his way so what could really go wrong? “How far out are you?”_

_“ETA 8 minutes.” A pause. “Make that 5. Don’t do anything stupid, Pete.”_

_“Sure.”_

_\--_

_Five minutes have never felt so long in his entire life._

_He tried staying away from the robots, he did, but they were aggressive and they were everywhere! He couldn’t just stay on ground control, he had to do something! T_ _hat’s how Peter finds himself three minutes into a game of tag with at least six murderous bots. He really, really misses Dum-E right about now._

_“Hey asshole,” he yells over his shoulder, twisting and flipping to land on another rooftop, “Looking for me?”_

_A purple blast misses him by an inch but the heat is enough to burn through his suit. “That was expensive,” he complains to the robot in question and jumps off the roof again, “You know my dad is not going to be happy about this.”_

_“I’m rarely happy when anything is after my kid.”_

_“Dad!” He yells and somersaults to his next destination in excitement when Iron Man appears next to him and neutralizes two of the robots with two well-placed repulsor blasts._

_“Hey squirt,” his dad greets him, “Whatever happened to taking care of civilians?”_

_He splutters, swerves to the left at the last second and lets another robot crash into a building. “In my defense -- they really wouldn’t let me!”_

_He hears his dad scoff but he doesn’t reprimand him so he’ll take that as a win. “Well, I’m on sky control now so do something for my heart today and stay down for now. I’ll call you when I need you.”_

_“You better,” he smiles as he webs his way back down to where more and more people have come together to watch the deadly spectacle. “Be careful, dad.”_

_“Always am.”_

_That isn’t necessarily true but Peter knows he’s trying and, again, his dad is Iron Man and these are just tin things that someone without his dad’s genius level engineering has coded so he’s not overly worried._

_“Hey there, kid,” he lands in front of an about seven years old and picks him up, “You can’t stay here, buddy. Where are your parents?”_

_He does that for another ten minutes, the fighting and shooting nothing more than a background noise he is looking out for in case his dad needs his help but everything seems alright so far._

_That is, until he looks up after herding another group of people into relative safety and sees one of the purple blast head right for his dad’s chest plate._

_“DAD!” He yells, freezes. “TO YOUR LEFT!”_

_He doesn’t think he’s breathing until he sees him swerve to the side and shoot the robot. But not before it damages his armor and Peter can see the entire left arm short circuit._

_Iron-Man is wobbling in the air for five seconds in which the whole world stands still. Or at least that’s what it feels like._

_“I’m okay, squirt. I’m okay.”_

_He scoffs, already shooting a web to the closest building. “I’m helping you.”_

_“No!” His dad’s voice is hard and unrelenting but Peter doesn’t care. He webs closer, feels the sting of robots flying past him and the cuts and bruises on his body as he barely scrapes by the buildings he swings past._

_“Dad!” He yells again when he sees him losing altitude and then suddenly his dad is shooting off towards the Tower looming in the distance and Peter is all alone again and suddenly he is surrounded by bots from all sides._

_“JARVIS?” He wants to ask but the words get stuck in his throat when Iron Man suddenly reappears, still one functioning arm down, and he hears his dad curse at the A.I._

_“Never,” he spits out and at first Peter thinks he might mean him but then he continues and he’s never sounded this angry at JARVIS before, “Never do that again when my kid is in danger.”_

_“Understood, sir,” comes the cool reply, “May I politely suggest you go back to get a functioning suit?”_

_“You may,” his dad gives back and twists mid flight, shooting another robot with a blast from his chest plate, “But I’m going to completely ignore you if that’s alright.”_

_If the A.I. could sigh Peter would bet the would but as it is they’re simply met with silence._

_“Okay, kid,” his dad tells him, “You go back down there. We’re going to have a serious talk about what civilian duty means but for now I want you as far from this as possible.”_

_“But what about —“ he tries to protest._

_“I’ll handle it._ Go _.”_

_And he does. He leaves his dad and gets out of harm's way and helps people off the streets and he’s almost relieved that he’s allowed to sit this one out._

_But then comes the loud bang and then the quiet and when he looks up his dad is clinging to the same building he was waiting on for him with just one hand._

_And when he looks again he’s falling._

_And screaming. And falling. And falling. And —_

_Crash._

_Bones crushing, armor denting and skin breaking. He can smell the blood half a mile out but maybe he’s imagining that because he’s not breathing and hyperventilating at the same time._

_And he’s moving as fast as he can yet not at all._

_He’s screaming but he’s impossibly quiet._

_When he gets there, the armor is broken open, his dad’s face lays bear for the world to see._

_Battered, bruised, dead._

_“Dad?” He whispers, then screams. “DAD!”_

_He rips off his mask and he screams for his father and he ignores the person that drapes a oversized jacket over his frame and the one who hides his mask in his pocket._

_Who_ cares _about his secret identity? How could it matter? How could anything matter anymore?_

_“Oh boy.” His head snaps up at the familiar voice and he can’t place it but he looks up and Obadiah Stane stands in front of him. Dressed in a black suit and white shirt — just like he left Peter._

_“He’s dead,” he tells him, sobs._

_“I know, I know, kid.” Uncle Obie’s voice is calm, he clings to it because it’s the only thing he can cling to anymore that isn’t cold and bloody and gone. “You killed him.”_

_“Wha- What?”_

_“He only came back to save you. JARVIS told me.”_

_And that’s wrong. He knows that’s wrong because JARVIS hates Obie but it doesn’t matter because he’s right anyway._

_“I — it’s my fault. I - I did this.” He stares, a part of him distant and lost, looking for directions -- a savior, something. “What do I do?”_

_“You have to run, Peter. You have to run and you can never come back.”_

_And so, with one last look at what he has done, he does._

* * *

Morgan shakes him and he’s glad she’s still holding on to him because he doesn’t think he’d be able to stand on his own, mind still trapped in the memory of the worst day of his life. 

“You’re alive,” she whispers reverently as if she’s trying to remind herself as well as him, “That’s all that matters! And that means…” she stares at him, hope dancing like stars in her eyes, “That means that you’re the rightful heir to Stark Industries.”

“You’re—“ Ned splutters, and only then does Peter remember that his best friend is still in the room with them, “Stark Industries? You’re a Stark! You’re _The_ Stark.”

“I’m not, I’m not.” Peter shakes his head violently. “I’m nobody. I’m just-- I’m just Peter.”

“But you’re Peter _Stark_ ,” Ned plows forward, “Why did you never tell me?” 

“Because it doesn’t.. it doesn’t matter.” 

“It doesn’t—“ Morgan starts, enraged, and is cut off by Rhodey who steps forward, hands raised in an arbitrating gesture, and points to Ned. 

“Maybe we should give them a moment to themselves.” Ned looks like he wants to protest but Rhodey just shakes his head and motions for him to follow him outside.

“Don’t rip each other’s head off,” he warns both siblings before leaving them to themselves.

“I had to go,” Peter says when they’re alone. “I had to… I had to find myself somewhere else… I had to…”

Morgan meets his eyes and where he saw hope mere minutes ago, there’s only betrayal. “We needed you at home.”

He shakes his head, turns away and begins pacing. “No one needs me.” 

“We did!” His sister protests, holds him into place by grabbing his hand and forcing him to meet her eyes. “We needed you! Obie is destroying everything dad stood for, he’s destroying the company and people could die for it!” 

“I can’t,” as gently as possible yet determined he pulls his hand from her grasp. “I can’t ever go back.”

He repeats the words he has lived after for years now. Repeats them like they’re the only thing he knows because, in some ways they are. He knows he’s a murderer and he knows he can never go back.

“Why?” Morgan yells. “Why can’t you come back? You’re our only hope!” 

“You wouldn’t understand!” He screams back just as angry but beneath his rage shame is burning hot. “You have no idea what happened! You’re too young, you don’t know how life works. But I can’t! Go! Back!”

“I don’t know how life works?” She laughs, it’s false and cold and nothing he ever wanted to hear from his sister. “I have watched a person we trusted destroy _everything_ and he’s not done yet. You’re the only person who can stop him.”

Peter grabs his hair, exasperated, lost. “But I can’t. I’m nothing.”

“You’re not nothing,” she argues, softer this time and she sounds a lot older than she should, like the world forced her to grow up faster than she was meant to. Peter almost feels bad for what he said but regret has so inherently become a part of who he is, it barely registers anymore. 

“You’re a Stark. You know the company! And you’re old enough to take over! He froze mom out when dad died and I’m too young and I don’t know the company like you do. There’s no other way.”

“But you can’t —“ he stares at her, wants to cry but doesn’t, “You can’t just come here and tell me to give up everything I’ve built up here. You have no idea how hard —“

“I don’t believe you.” And now she just sounds tired. “I always thought…” she shakes her head. “But you’re not the Peter I remember. You’re not a hero.”

“Yeah, well, I’m not. Are you happy now?”

“No. Just disappointed.” She gives him a long, hard look. “And dad would’ve been, too.” 

That blindsides him for a moment, the pain of losing his father suddenly so overwhelmingly fresh again that he can almost smell the mix of blood and metal. When he blinks back his sister is standing right in front of him, brown eyes guarded as she shoves a box into his hands.

“He wanted you to have this. I’m not sure you deserve it anymore.” With that she leaves the room and him by himself just like he wanted and it feels like boarding the train at Penn Station all over again.

\--

The sudden silence in the room is deafening in and of itself and it takes all he has to not throw the box against the wall. Outside he can hear Ned and Professor Rhodes… Uncle Rhodey, apparently… whisper to each other, debating whether or not to check on him. He doesn’t hear Morgan but that doesn’t surprise him. 

She left the second she said her piece, like the force of nature she has always been. Like a storm of vengeance and anger. Unadulterated by circumstance and purely emotional. Like their dad. 

He blinks and instead of screaming and kicking and crying he slides down to the ground, defeated, clutching the small rectangular box to his chest like it’s the only thing tethering him to the moment. 

_Breathe_ , he instructs himself and, slowly but surely, he calms himself down enough to actually look at what his dad left him. 

It’s a dark blue box with bronze-golden specks. Seven of them are bigger than the others and it takes his mind an embarrassingly long time to recognize the muster as the Little Dipper constellation. 

_“See, squirt, that’s the Little Dipper. It’s called the small bear in Latin. Just like you, my small bear.”_

_He giggles. “So are you the big bear?”_

Peter smiles. A small tug at the corner of his lips that vanishes just as fast. 

Instead of opening the box he turns it around and stops. There’s another seven bright spots that stand out, slightly differently assembled. 

His nose itches and the next thing he knows there are big, ugly tears running down his cheeks and blurring his sight. 

_“Of course I am. Look at it. There. They’re never without each other.”_

“You promised,” he gasps out between the sobs that tear through his lungs relentlessly and only now does he realize how much he needs his dad with him, “You promised you’d always be there for me. But you’re —“ he squeezes his eyes shut, lets his body shake, “You’re not here. I’m all alone.”

He lets that roll over him, lets himself wallow in self- pity and pain and loneliness for a few more minutes until there’s not much left in him to cry out and he can’t say anything without repeating it for the umpteenth time.

Then, he musters all his strength and finally opens the box.

It’s a pair of glasses. Similar to ones his dad used to wear whenever he went outside. They look like regular glasses but he knows, the second he sees them, that they’re not. Nothing his dad ever made was regular.

When he puts them on, at first, they feel kind of big on his face, like they belong to someone else - someone he has yet to grow into. He’s not sure what he’s supposed to do with them, how he’s supposed to unlock whatever the glasses can do so he starts with the most obvious answer, a name he hasn’t said for so long it feels bulky on his tongue.

“JARVIS?”

“Guess again, squirt.”

He almost breaks again at the familiar voice. “Dad?” 

“Not quite… Did you forget him already?” The voice is teasing yet soft and it’s too much for Peter to wrap his head around so he doesn’t.

“How could I?” He asks instead. 

“You ran away.” And it’s not an accusation, it’s not much of anything other than a matter-of-fact statement. Yet it feels like a punch to his gut. 

“I had to, da—,” he pleads with him to understand as if it was the person he misses more than anything in the world and not an A.I. - zeroes and ones coded to talk and react like him. 

”You had to leave your family?” Somehow that slightly technically voice sounds amused, human - a fact Peter has always adored about his dad’s A.I.s.

“I thought I did… I thought — but I don’t — I don’t know.” 

“You don’t know?”

“Yes, I don’t know!” Peter yells into the empty office room and glares at the bookshelf overflowing with huge tomes and magazines. “I don’t know who I am anymore… I’m not the person I used to be. And you,” he raises his hand as if to point but lets it fall down to his side again when he realizes once more that the voice is not a real person, “You’re not my dad.”

“No, I’m not,” the voice replies, soft like his dad would.

“And, and- I don’t even know what to call you!” He’s spiraling but he can’t stop himself. “Do I call you Dad? Tony? I can’t call you Tony! I can’t— you’re not—“

“Take a deep breath, Peter,” the nameless voice commands, gently but authoritatively. “Maybe we should delay that conversation a bit. And for the record, it doesn’t matter what you call me. It doesn’t change my purpose which is to protect you from any harm I may perceive as such.” 

“Gee,” he rubs at his face, “Dial down the overprotection a bit, would you?” He sighs. “I just really miss my dad, y’know.” 

“I figured as much. Do you want to see the message he left you?” 

All at once Peter is pacing. “There’s a message?! And you didn’t tell me about it right away?!”

“I thought we should get to know each other first!” And it almost sounds defensive. “Should I play the message?” 

“Yes, please.” 

And he takes a deep breath and he thinks he’s ready to hear and see his dad again but he’s not. He’s so far from ready he’s barely scratching the surface of it. 

“Hey Pete,” his dad smiles at him and in the display of the glasses he seems so close. Like he could touch him. And, on instinct, he reaches out, like he has always reached out for his dad and his dad has always reached right back. But not this time.

“I really hate having to sound like a cliché but,” the image of his dad pauses, looks down and then right into the camera, right into Peter’s soul. “If you’re seeing this something bad probably happened. There’s a lot going on right now, a lot of it bad but, please, believe me when I say that I never wanted to leave you. I never wanted to leave any of you.” 

He’s crying again. The tear tracks on his cheeks that just dried are cracking open, pulling on his skin as he contorts his face, tries to keep from sobbing loudly. 

“Look, Pete,” his dad leans forward, looks even closer, “I never wanted this life for myself and I especially didn’t want it for you. I tried to change the ways of the company, tried to leave you something _good_ because that’s what you deserve, what you have always deserved.”

“If you’re hearing this, all of that is probably in jeopardy and you, you’re still a kid —“ His dad’s voice breaks alongside Peter’s heart. “You haven’t even turned 18 yet and here I am asking more of you than any parent ever should. You have to take over the company. Pepper is going to help you where she can and she’s going to make sure that you get to go to college and be a kid for a little while longer but in the end,” he sighs again, heavy and pained and full of regret, “It’s going to have to be you, Peter.”

“But —“ he sobs, wants to scream into the void, “I can’t do it.” His words go unheard but his father knows him… knew him… enough to continue anyway.

“Never doubt yourself, kiddo. Never doubt who you are.” He smiles then, and even on the small display Peter can see the tears glistening in his eyes. “You are Peter Stark. You are brilliant and you are kind and you are wonderful. You are the best person and you’re the best superhero I have ever met, no matter how much I never wanted you to be one.” A huff that’s supposed to be a laugh and his dad wipes his eyes before looking back at the camera one last time.

“You are the heir to Stark Industries. But most importantly; you are my son and that is something no one can ever take away from you.” 

“I love you, dad,” Peter whispers into his palm, sends into the universe so it reaches his dad wherever he is now and maybe it does.

“I love you, Peter. I’m proud of you.” 

That’s where the recording cuts out and he’s left on his own although… not entirely. 

“Are you okay, Peter?” The A.I. asks and now that he has the direct comparison he can hear the differences, the nuances in infliction that tell him it’s not his dad and there’s still a hole in his heart but he’s starting to think that he might be okay with the voice anyway.

“I’m… yeah, uh?”

“You can call me T.O.N.I. if you want to.” 

Somehow that calms him down enough to let out a wet laugh. “Really? That’s all he could come up with? His name?”

“You’ll be pleased to find that it’s an abbreviation,” the A.I., T.O.N.I, adds. 

“Of course it is.” Peter leans back, eyes closed, and uses the easy conversation to calm his racing thoughts. Really, when he’s being honest to himself there’s only one option left when he’s done. “What does it stand for?”

“Tony’s Overprotective Nursing Initiative.” 

And that. That is so much his father that he opens his eyes just to roll them and the small act of defiance, the small excursion into an emotion that is not grief, breaks him out of his stupor. “Nice to meet you, T.O.N.I. I’m Peter.”

“Hey, Peter?” 

He looks up from where he’s leaning against one of the bookshelves and finds himself face to face with his professor poking his head through the door, looking worried. 

There’s so much to unpack, so many things Peter needs to ask him, so many things he wants to know but, then again, none of them really matter so he just looks at him, sends him a tired smile and waits until he’s seated next to him on the relatively comfy carpet.

“Everything is changing,” he says the first thing that comes to mind. 

Rhodey looks at him, really looks at him like he’s seeing all of him. “Change is not always bad.” 

“Yeah,” Peter agrees solemnly, “But it’s not easy. And… I know what I have to do. But going back means having to face… everything and I’ve been running away from it so long. I don’t know if I can do it.” 

“Do you want my honest opinion?” Rhodey asks, piquing Peter’s interest who squints at him and nods. “I knew your father and, in parts, I had the honor of getting to know you, too. You’re your father’s son, Peter. And the one thing I know is that there’s nothing a Stark can’t do.” 

“Then,” he takes in his surrounding once more, smiles when the display of his glasses lights up with all information he never knew he needed and takes a deep breath before finishing. “I’m going back.

“Did I hear going back?” Ned pops in, practically falls through the door in excitement. “I’m coming with!” 

“What? Why?” Peter frowns in amusement. “I don’t even know how I’m gonna get there.”

“Why?” Ned looks at him like he lost his head, “Cause from what I’m hearing this is gonna be messy and if it’s gonna be messy you’re gonna need your best friend.”

“And your family,” Rhodey pipes up from his right.

“And the private jet I took to get here, maybe.” 

“Morgan!” He smiles when he sees her standing in the doorway. 

He looks at them, looks at all of them and takes them in - his family is with him when, for the longest time, he thought he was completely on his own.They're what gives him the strength to push himself up from the ground and turn towards an uncertain future. 

“Okay. Let’s go.”

* * *

“So. What do we do now?”

It’s Ned who actually voices the question but all heads snap up to look at him like he’s the one who is supposed to have all the answers. It’s overwhelming but he squares his shoulders, thinks, then meets their eyes.

“Morgan, you said there are some R&D people that aren’t happy with Obie’s plans, right?”

“You mean like everyone still left?” His sister scoffs, rolls her eyes like they’re just arguing about which movie to watch and not planning to take over a company. He loves her a bit more for that albeit her lax attitude does nothing to calm the worry for her he feels like a weight pressed into his chest. 

God. This must’ve been how his dad felt… and somehow that thought makes him smile.

“I’ll get them,” Morgan says when he gives her a nod.

“And don’t forget mom,” he adds, almost timidly, but if she’s still mad, she doesn’t show it because she simply grins at him.

“You betcha I’m bringing her.”

“And I’m guessing you’ve got a plan for us as well?” Rhodey asks, sitting straight and on full alert and ready to jump at his command. 

Peter softens, feels a novel kind of authority bleed into his voice that he used to associate with his dad, “We’re going to need a distraction.” He taps the glasses securely fastened to the neckline of his shirt. “T.O.N.I. said Obadiah has robots patrolling around him and I’d rather have as few of them around as possible when I confront him.”

Ned is quiet for a minute and Peter almost wants to tell him to just stay in the relative safety of the jet when he meets his eyes and there’s a fire of defiance and adventure in them, and a glimmer of mirth. “You know, I’m so glad I’m distracting robots this time and not some random kids.”

“Yeah,” he agrees with a soft laugh, “Although you gave that hula your everything.” 

“And what are you going to do?” 

“First, I’m going home. I need to get my suit —“

For the second time that day Ned looks at him like he just lost his head or like he’s just really worried for his mental health. “No offense but do you really think fighting your villain uncle is the best time to dress up in a tux, Pete?” 

He grins and meets Morgan’s eyes with a wink. “I think there’s something else you should know about me...” 

* * *

There are a million and one things on his mind but they all cease to be relevant the second he’s inside his dad’s workshop. He barely registers putting in his code and opening the door, too caught up in the familiarity of being home and retracing the same steps he has for as long as he can remember. 

He recognizes the smell instantly even with the stale stench of a left home clinging to it. 

It smells of motor oil and metal and somehow, miraculously, of his dad’s aftershave. There are clothes, his dad’s and his, thrown over furniture, suits half assembled and tools never put away. There’s a half-mopped up puddle of motor oil that looks like Dum-E tried to clean up after a mishap. 

The bot in question is standing in a corner, claw lowered as if he is scared but when Peter makes his way to him ever so slowly, he looks up, hinges squeaking and squealing, and makes a timid sort of beep boop until he pats his head.

“He missed you, sir.” 

Despite everything that hangs in the balance the voice brings out a smile in him. “JARVIS.”

“At your service, sir.” Peter is a hundred percent certain that he sounds fond.

“You can keep calling me Peter, Jar,” he tells him, shuffling back from Dum-E and towards his dad’s work station - swallowing down every emotion that could keep him from fulfilling his task. He’s going to have to deal with all of it eventually but for now he’s looking for something specific and, without knowing what he’s looking for, Dum-E races around the lab trying to help.

“Do you know if dad kept my old suit?” 

“Your father has kept every mark of the Spider-Man he ever created,” comes JARVIS’ reply, almost offended on his creator’s behalf.

“Yeah, well, there’s only one left,” he mutters more to himself as he pulls up various folders. When he finds the Spider-Man folder he stutters and stops. The words ‘I threw mine away’ dying on his tongue when three different holographic schematics pop up.

One he knows. It’s of the first suit is dad made. The one he wore when everything fell apart and the one he threw away when he left everything behind.

The other two he has never seen before. One is called the Iron Spider and the name makes him smile sadly. The other one is barely more than a scrapbook entry, a suit his dad never got to finish. 

“JARVIS?” He asks, eyes never leaving the turning holographs, “Is the Iron Spider usable?” 

“It is.”

Okay. Peter takes in a deep breath, feels his lungs fully fill with air for the first time that day and lets it out again. “Upload T.O.N.I. into it, would you?” 

“Right away,” the A.I. replies and a slot on the side of the lab opens, revealing a small red housing unit with a blue spider on top, a slightly darker blue than his old suit had and he’s glad for the small but distinct disparity. 

Awestruck he reaches for the light object. “Are those - is that nano technology? He did this three years ago?” 

“It would appear so.”

“Good thing dad was always ahead of the rest of the world.” Peter grins. “Finish uploading. I’m going to get everything back.”

He puts the housing unit on his shirt, reveling in how the nano units almost immediately start covering his body and in the feeling of truly being back home. 

“Oh and JARVIS? You remember the Invisibility Cloak protocol?”

“Vividly, sir,” comes the dry reply, a short pause, then. “Invisibility Cloak Protocol adapted and applied.” 

And, when the mask closes over his head and the HUD blinks up, he feels like he might actually be able to pull this off. 

* * *

He hears Obie’s voice when he’s still a couple of stories out, climbing the glass facade of Stark Tower and it makes him shiver like it did that night. What he doesn’t expect is hearing Pepper’s voice as well. Tired, yet defiant, and wonderfully alive.

“Everyone here is working as hard as they can,” she tells him and Peter can just imagine the way she is holding her chin high and shoulders square. 

It makes him move even faster up to the office where he is suspecting they are at. An office his dad only had because he had to and never really used and that he is sure Obadiah just loves to show off in.

“Then maybe as hard as they can is not hard enough,” the man growls back.

“The stocks wouldn’t have dropped if you hadn’t boycotted the entire course of the company,” his mom shoots back, waspish and proud. “You can still go back. You can still save the company, Obadiah.” 

There’s a pause and even from three stories down Peter can feel the anger rolling off the man. When he speaks again, it sounds dangerously sweet. “Tony is dead, Virgina. And this company is now mine so you’re just going to have to _suck it up_ and make your oh-so-beloved staff work harder to keep their oh-so-sacred jobs. Or I will —“

That’s as far as he gets because Peter has reached the office and he can only see Obadiah’s back and the way he’s towering over his mom and he can see how tired and worn she looks and in a surge of wild fury he punches through the glass, flips through the window and lands between the startled pair, glaring at Stane.

“Get away from her,” he snarls, absentmindedly cataloguing all the information showing up on the HUD and Pepper’s presence behind him. 

“Spider-Man?” His dumbfounded stare fills Peter with an unfamiliar feeling of superiority.

He notes the two red dots closing in outside the door, reinforcement after the noise no doubt, before he lets the nanites retract from his face, triumphantly taking in the shock on the other man’s face. 

“Almost, Stane,” he says. His neck is prickling with both his mother’s gaze and the presence of the two guys outside and he flips across the room to shield Pepper from the door flying open just as both she and Obadiah scream his name. Though in varying degrees of joy.

His mask is back on his face and he easily blocks the punches the two goons are sending in his direction. When the taller of the two charges his way he realizes that he knows that face at the same time as the HUD blinks up with a name.

_Adrian Toomes._

“You!” Peter all but yells and stumbles back a good few steps at the realization. “You were in charge of the alien weapons!” He whirls around to where Obadiah is standing. “You _work_ with them?”

He is blazing with fury, and the same kind of authority from before bleeds into his voice as he makes himself as tall as he can. “Give me one good reason not to tear you apart right here and now.”

“Ah, well, Pete,” Obadiah comes closer, voice sleazy and arms raised, a peaceful gesture that feels anything but. “Running a company this large… it’s not easy, you have to understand.”

“Then you’ll be glad to hear that it’s no longer your company to run,” he says, voice dripping with a cold sort of sarcasm he never used before. And when it looks like Stane wants to protest, he cuts him off. “Step down.” 

“The problem is,” he is stepping closer and pointing to the crooks at his side, making Peter’s skin tingle in alarm, “ _They_ listen to _me_.” 

“Well,” the gloriously defiant voice of his sister comes from the door and when he turns around he sees she is accompanied by a whole bunch of people - lab coats rumpled and glasses askew - as well as Rhodey and Ned, who is sporting a cut on his eyebrow but gives him a joyful thumbs up anyway. “We don’t.”

He lets his gaze wander over them for just a moment, takes in their sunken in faces, the fury in their stances and the hope in their eyes. He tries to channel their strength, tries to channel their trust. 

“Stand down or I will make you.” 

“Ah,” he sighs dramatically, inching closer to Peter who instinctually takes a step backwards, “Why do you want to fight so badly? Am I not family? Hasn’t enough blood been shed in this family?” 

He grits his teeth, balls his hands to fists and is proud when his voice doesn’t shake. “That’s not going to work, Stane. This has nothing to do with him.” 

Obadiah grins then as if he’s winning a game Peter isn’t playing and he forces Peter to take another step back and to turn so that he’s facing the door now. “That’s what you’re saying but,” he points to Morgan and Pepper, to his friends and family who are watching the exchange, “Do they agree?” 

“Petey?” Morgan steps forward, her voice small and shaky and sounding more like the child she still is. “What is he talking about?” 

“Ha!” Obadiah laughs in delight but it rings cold and hollow, eyes narrowed to slits, calculating. “You never told them, have you? Well, maybe today’s the day. Pete,” he spreads his arms as if to say _be my guest_. “Tell them who’s responsible for your father’s death.” 

The sudden lack of sound is more startling than any fight. Peter can hear heartbeats stutter and breaths falter and clothes moving with miniscule startles but other than that, no one is moving. Hell, barely anyone is breathing. 

He sees Toomes and his goons loiter around the back and slowly surround the people he so desperately wants to protect. He sees the confusion in Ned’s eyes and the turmoil in his sister’s but it’s Pepper’s eyes he meets when he bites the bullet and nods. “I am.”

The quiet from before abruptly turns into an avalanche of noise, as everyone is protesting and he so desperately wants to tell them that it’s a lie and that it’s all going to be okay but he knows he has to take a stand now. He should have taken a stand years ago. So when he hears his sister beg for him to tell her it’s not true he just shakes his head and bows his head. 

“So you admit to murder?” Obadiah inquires gleefully and there’s something sitting wrong with Peter. It’s different to the danger surrounding them, it’s something in Obie’s voice he can’t place and he’s far too occupied with the uncertainty he’s putting his family through to focus on it. 

“No,” he insists desperately, trying to convey with his eyes how much it’s true. How sorry he is. “No. It was an accident! I never -- I never meant to --”

“Oh but you did.” Obie takes another step towards him, like a predator stalking his prey. “Some superhero you are, boy,” he chuckles and Peter is too stunned with guilt to do much when he enters his personal space and grabs for his chest but all at once he feels the suit retract until he’s only clad in a jeans and t-shirt he put on in a different life just this morning and Obadiah is casually holding the housing unit for the suit’s nanites. 

“You aren’t a hero.” He tells him and Peter can’t help but nod in agreement.

“I know.” 

Obie comes closer, nonchalantly playing with his suit. Peter takes another step back.

“You killed your beloved father.” 

Another step. Peter is shaking. 

“I didn’t -- I didn’t!” But he doesn’t listen, doesn’t even bat an eye. 

“Murderer,” he snarls and takes another step.

And Peter takes another step back, gaze jumping between Obadiah’s menacing figure and his family slowly but surely getting surrounded by his goons, until suddenly there’s no more ground to stand on and he can just barely grab on to the last inch of hallway, the glass cutting into his skin. 

Morgan is screaming something but he barely registers anything but the pain, Stane towering over him and the realization that he might be able to stick to things but if he falls he falls and then he dies. 

Just like his father did. 

Obadiah eyes him thoughtfully, contemplating something Peter has too much adrenaline running through his veins to analyze. 

“This does look kind of familiar,” he tells him, voice low as he squats down to take a good look at him, head cocked to the side. “This is exactly how your dear father looked right before he died.” He grins then and shuffles forward as if to step on Peter’s fingers that are barely holding on as it is. “You wanna know _my_ little secret, boy?” He lowers his voice some more, laughs quietly. “It was me. I killed Tony.” 

And all at once he can see the day his father died flash in front of his eyes, remembers Obie’s voice - so sorry and so fake - telling him to run and never come back. Something clicks and he screams at him and, gathering the last of his strength, he claws his way back up and pushes the murderer of his father until he lands on his back and now Peter is the one towering over him. 

“Murderer,” he yells, screams against the pain and fury in his chest. “You killed him! You killed him and you lied to me and you destroyed everything.” 

Just as he wants to push again, wants to let everything out so he can stop being consumed by the overwhelming rage that blossomed in his stomach and has taken control of his body he feels himself get pulled back and when he whirls around -- poised to do whatever it takes -- and Toomes has one of the purple glowing weapons in his hands and it’s aiming right at his head. 

He growls again, surges forward without a thought to his well being and Toomes is taken aback long enough for Peter to slap the weapon out of his hand and land a punch. His fist meets flesh and the sickening sound of bone breaking breaks him out of his rage fueled mania. He stumbles back a few steps, tries to orient himself but everyone is fighting and everything is moving and it’s all too much. 

They’re losing, they’re losing, they’re _dying_.

He dives for the housing unit of his suit that Stane lost when he pushed him back, clicks it back on his shirt and instantly his senses ease. 

“T.O.N.I.?” He asks, breathless and lost. “What do I do? I can’t protect them. I can’t, I can’t -- I have to do something.” He shoots a web at one of the other guys that is trying to go after Ned, giving his friend the opportunity to hide behind the desk. 

“There are suits on stand-by but they can only be activated using your command.” 

And he wants to cry with relief but he’s busy pulling Pepper away from the window before someone gets to her. 

“Do that,” he all but yells when he turns around and finds a gun pointed at him that is just as soon slapped away again by his stupidly brave sister. 

“Activating Iron Legion,” T.O.N.I. confirms and the next thing Peter knows, a handful of Iron Man suits come flying through the door. Two attach themselves to Pepper and Morgan, one completely encases a dumbfounded Ned and one flies straight towards Rhodey who only needs a second to adjust from defense to full offense. 

“Take that you sick bastard,” he yells, fires up the repulsors and dashes towards one of the weapons rather clumsily. 

Three more suits work on their own, no doubt operated by JARVIS and he’s glad they’re guarding the door when about a dozen robots start flooding in. 

He can barely do anything but react to attacks -- throwing a punch here, shooting a web there -- trying his hardest to protect the people he loves the most. Which is a lot easier said than done when his sister and mother both leap for Stane the second they’re in suits. 

Despite everything, he isn’t giving up. He’s shooting and kicking and the more bots get in the more they build up a wall around him. 

Peter shoots a web to the ceiling and swings over to them, pushing the robots away to reach the man who killed his father. His HUD blinks up with possible threats and injuries but his family has his back and so he tries to focus on him, webbing the weapon out of his hand and throwing it to the side. 

For the first time, Stane isn’t smiling. He’s shaking and he is apprehensive and it gives Peter a sick sort of satisfaction to see him whine for mercy. 

“Pete, Pete. You wouldn’t kill me, right?” He asks sweetly, hands steadying himself as he’s crouching in front of him. “You wouldn’t kill your own uncle?” 

And, in all honesty, Peter wants to. He wants to rip out his heart and he wants him to suffer and he wants to erase him from the face of the earth for good. 

“You’d deserve it,” he tells him, the fight going on behind him bleeding into a background noise, “You don’t deserve to live after -- After everything you’ve done.” He steps closer, deliberately confining Stane in the same position he was in and he bows down, enjoys the terror in his eyes. “But I’m not like you.” 

He balls his hands to fists, sees hope battle with fear in Obadiah’s eyes and lets the mask retract from his face so he can see how much he wants to lunge forward and push him into certain death. 

Peter takes a deep breath, unclenches his fist, reaches for his web shooters and clears his mind and throat. “I won’t disappoint my dad ever again.” 

He shoots a web. Then another. And another. Until he is trapped on the floor for good with no chance of moving anytime soon. 

“You’re going to rot in prison until the end of time,” he tells him then flips backwards and starts cleaning up the rest of the attackers with his family, his friends and a bunch of angry SI employees at his side until every last one of them is webbed to the ceiling or floor or to each other. 

“T.O.N.I.?” Peter calls out when the last one is secured and the entire office is trashed. “Call the police, would ya?” 

“They’re on their way,” the A.I. replies in a voice that is his father’s but also isn’t and with a smirk evident in his tone. 

* * *

“Hey everyone,” he greets the room full of strangers and microphones and cameras with flashlights. It doesn’t bother him as much as he thought it would because at the very back of the room his family is lined up — an entire group of people who have his back.

Peter smiles at the crowd, polite and shy. “It’s been a while so I won’t blame anyone for not knowing who the new guy is.” That earns him some cautious laughter which he almost expected. He has never given a press conference before, is lacking his dad’s expertise and no one here has an inkling of what to expect. 

He takes a deep breath, looks at Pepper in her sharp navy suit who nods and sends him an encouraging smile. He takes her strength and rolls with it. “So allow me to reintroduce myself to you. I’m Peter Stark, I’m 21 years old and I’m half a semester away from finishing my degree in engineering at MIT.” 

A dozen people raise their hands all at ones, waving with undoubtedly urgent questions but he picks a brunette woman in the third row with a small Spider-Man pin on her blazer. 

“Would you say you’re following in your father’s footsteps?” She asks, voice kind. He thinks he may be getting a hatchling bonus but he’s grateful for it nonetheless.

“They’re big footsteps to fill,” he meets Morgan’s eyes across the room, shining with the memories of an inside joke. “But I’m going to do my best to make him proud.” 

“Does that mean you will be taking over Stark Industries?” A man asks without being called on. From the corner of his eye he can see Happy lean forward, no doubt ready to intervene on his behalf. He shakes his head ever so slightly but something in him relaxes at the reminder that he’s not alone in a sea of predators. 

“I am the rightful heir to Stark Industries,” he replies slowly, forming each word carefully considerate of how much they could come to mean, “But I’m also smart enough to know that no one can lead this company better than my mother can. She will resume CEO duties until further notice and she will show me the ropes so that I can, at some point and in good conscience take over my father’s legacy.” 

That earns him impressed stares and he has to force himself not to show his eyes roll back in exasperation because he can’t understand how none of them see that no 21 year-old would ever want that kind of responsibility. Somehow they still can’t see his dad never wanted it either. 

“Yes, sir.” He points to another young reporter in the first row. 

He watches the wheels turn in his head, notices how he’s mulling over his words trying to figure out if this is one of the topics Pepper Potts forbade them to ask about and contemplates his silent panic with a hint of amusement.

“What about Spider-Man’s presence?” He finally gets out and if that isn’t the exact question Peter asked right before coming out, the thing everything else seems to hinge on. “We’ve all read the official statement about the circumstances of Stane’s arrest but there is no word about why Spider-Man suddenly reappeared this week. Is he a friend? An Avenger? Is he back for good?” 

He chuckles.

All the way in the back Aunt May shakes her head at him in exasperation, a smile playing on her lips. 

Ned’s eyes are round, his mouth forming a perfect O. He stands with his family like he never stood anywhere else.

Rhodey gives him a discreet thumb up, hiding his laugh in his palm but Peter can see his shoulders shake. 

Happy isn’t watching him at all, he’s casing the crowd for potential threats, waiting for the tumult Peter is going to cause. Just like he used to wait for his dad.

Morgan nods vigorously, her brown curls bouncing up and down and her favorite shirt with a glowing arc reactor on the front is peaking out from underneath her jacket. She’s excited but, most of all, she’s supportive and she’s there and he loves her with his whole heart. 

Eventually his eyes land on his mother -- _The_ Pepper Potts who is always collected, always one step ahead. She is clutching the clipboard with a copy of the notes she gave him to her chest as if she’s trying to hold the world as she knows it in place for just a little while longer. But if anyone knows how to adapt to a world that is perpetually changing it’s her. 

When she gives one last, resigned nod, Peter opens his mouth to speak. 

He grins. “The truth is -- I am Spider- Man.” 

**Author's Note:**

> Last but not least: A huge huge thank you to [TheOceanIsMyInkwell](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheOceanIsMyInkwell/pseuds/TheOceanIsMyInkwell) who's brilliant brain came up with T.O.N.I. and [ArdenSkyeHolmes221](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArdenSkyeHolmes221/pseuds/ArdenSkyeHolmes221) who, despite her busy schedule, read through this in an evening and approved otherwise y'all wouldn't be getting anything right now. Go read all they've written, they're also crazy talented, I swear! 
> 
> And, thank you, dear reader for reading this far and for staying with me and for every kudo and comment I've ever gotten. I might be taking a break from writing for a while because I've got a dissertation that isn't going to write itself but I love and appreciate everyone of you more than you know. Thank you. <3


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